


Holy Knight

by orphan_account



Category: Uta no Prince-sama
Genre: Inspired by the Rose Rose Romance cover, M/M, lots of subtext, very subtle ship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-10-12 08:02:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20560955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Ren poses naked for his solo album cover. Masato thinks it's disgraceful.





	Holy Knight

**Author's Note:**

> Every once in a while I get on a RenMasa kick, and I'm on one right now. 
> 
> This fic is based off of the Rose Rose Romance cover, because I too understand it shows Ren's character development, but my brain seems to get stuck on "he naked". Also, the thought of the giant advertising poster on display at Ikebukuro Station with just a giant naked Ren is still the funniest thing to me, and I'm so sad I won't be there to see it.
> 
> There's lots of reading between the lines on this one because the two can't just say what they mean to each other.

_“Hello?”_

“Jinguji.”

“_Glad to hear you’ve learned how the telephone works, Hijirikawa. Next you’ll be learning the microwave too._”

Masato clamps down on the irritated sigh that threatens to slip from his lips. Ren doesn’t sound surprised to hear from him in the slightest, and he supposes he’s predictable. “Naked. Really?”

“_Ran-chan already gave me the lecture, so feel free to skip it if you’d like to save your breath._”

“I’m coming up.”

“_And if I’m not home?_”

“You’re home.” Masato knows Ren is home. He’s always home on Tuesdays after his radio appearances, generally with a bottle of cheap red wine and a bag full of groceries to cook for meal prep. Masato jabs the elevator button with his free hand and readjusts the mask over his face. Why Ren couldn’t decide to stay in the Shining Agency apartments, Masato isn’t sure, but he has a feeling the neighbors are starting to get suspicious. Ren does have a distinctive voice.

“_I am home,_” Ren admits, too easily for him to actually have expected a fight over it.

The door is unlocked when Masato approaches. There’s the scent of simmering tomato sauce wafting through the air, giving the entire apartment a homey feel. Masato has always felt at ease in Ren’s space, something he simply attributes to having lived with him for eight years in far too close quarters. Everything is modern and sleek, dark velvet throw pillows giving the entire area a polish that makes it look like it’s something out of a magazine rather than somewhere that is lived in. He slips off his shoes and locks the door, automatically dropping his bag in front of the coat rack and hanging his outer layers up. The mask is always the last to come off, but it’s a relief when it does. The anonymity it brings is sometimes not worth the mild claustrophobia he feels at having it on.

“Staying for dinner?” Ren asks, not bothering to greet him. Masato knew he’d be in the kitchen, a pair of slippers on and his hair tied back. It’s sloppy and messy, strands falling out to frame his face, but it’s a good look on him, not that Masato would ever say it out loud. It’s a crack in Ren Jinguji’s façade, and only something he does when he’s alone.

“Probably.”

Ren crosses the kitchen to get another plate down from the cupboard.

“Swimsuits weren’t enough?” Masato asks, picking up their earlier conversation.

“We can’t all have pretty costumes.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s exactly what the solo album covers were meant for.”

Ren gives a sigh, and it’s deeper than Masato expects. “The solo albums were for us to experiment on showing our true selves and how we’ve grown, right? So, I just showed it.” Despite the earlier sound, his words are light, thrown out there carelessly.

It’s infuriating.

“You showed it figuratively by showing everything literally?”

Ren tosses him a grin. “I did have underwear on; I wasn’t just going to sit in front of a photographer for an hour in nothing. Believe it or not, I did read our contract.”

Masato does believe him, begrudgingly. “It’s embarrassing,” he says.

“For you? Why?”

He doesn’t know exactly why it bothers him, just that it does, and that question is enough to shut him up, at least for long enough that Ren hands him a pair of chopsticks and a spoon and brings the side dishes to the table before Masato realizes he should at least offer to help. He always gets waved off, especially now that there’s not much to do, but it’s the principle of the thing.

Ren is still an excellent cook, and Masato can tell he changed his menu from pasta to omurice at the last minute, because Ren prefers something more ketchup-based for omurice, but the sauce this time is made of real tomato paste, just like Masato likes. He doesn’t say anything about it though, because what is there to say that hasn’t already been said? “The vegetables could have used another minute,” he says instead, and Ren only gives an acknowledging hum.

“It’s improper,” he finally says, and Ren sighs and leans back in his chair.

“When am I not?”

“It’s not the same.”

“Please,” Ren scoffs. “You’ve been telling me that at least five times a day since we moved in together the first time.”

“It’s different when you’re lounging around mostly naked at home. An album cover is something everyone will see.”

“You and Ran-chan really are alike, you know? Except he just told me I was ‘making a mockery of the profession’ and ‘should feel ashamed of it’. You’re just using different words.” Ren waves his chopsticks as if to dispel the thoughts and goes back to eating.

“It’s nothing to do with that.”

“Oh?” Ren stops again.

Even though he’s sure it’s not, Masato still isn’t sure exactly what the problem is. Ren isn’t wrong; he’s always been improper, mostly to push the boundaries of what’s allowed. It’s not just in his personal life, but work too. Posing naked on the cover of his own solo album sounds exactly like something he would do as a challenge. Ren isn’t shy about his body, nor has he ever been. He’ll happily show it off to anyone who asks, fans included.

This feels different though. No one has asked, but Ren has offered, and for some reason, it leaves a sour taste in his mouth.

“You are . . . giving yourself away,” he says slowly, trying to work it out even as he says it.

“And how is that different from when we perform? We willingly give ourselves away, don’t we? To the ladies and gentlemen who are looking for love? We give ourselves away in the hopes that they’ll find something in there that soothes them.”

“No,” Masato says firmly. “We offer what we can from the emotions we already have. By the time they hear the song, we’ve already given our emotions away to whoever they’re meant for, whether it’s the fans or someone specific.”

“Are you singing to someone specific, Hijirikawa?”

“Aren’t you?”

Ren doesn’t answer. He just looks away.

But by now, Masato understands the issue, because it’s not the expanse of bare skin that offends him. It’s improper by all accounts, a naked man on every piece of advertising, including what will undoubtedly soon be a giant sign at a JR train station. But that’s just Ren Jinguji the musician.

That vulnerable look in his eye, the spark that Masato saw just before Ren looked away, that’s Ren Jinguji the man. The same look that he’s offering to every fan out there, an invitation to come and step inside his psyche, despite his own very real fear of being hurt or rejected. Masato can’t stand it, seeing it plastered everywhere when he himself only sees the rare glimpse of it before Ren’s walls come back up. It feels desperate, a frantic “I need someone to love me” in the most obscene way; a mockery of his own feelings, because he knows everyone will be talking about his body and no one will be asking about the very real emotions behind it.

“You don’t have to show it all, you know,” he finally says around the lump in his throat.

“Is there a difference between showing it and not showing it? Does it really matter?” Ren’s voice is carefully light this time, the pauses between his words measured and cool.

“I would rather you show it to someone who would protect it.”

For just a moment, there is a flicker of understanding on his face. His gaze meets Masato’s for only a second before it slides away. The walls come up, the impenetrable fortress that is Ren Jinguji seemingly looming before him. But then Ren says, “I see,” and there’s something in his tone that makes Masato think that perhaps he’s not as guarded as he once thought.

“Do you sing to someone, Jinguji?” Masato asks. He’s slightly surprised at his own boldness.

“I do,” he says. For a moment, the rules don’t matter and neither does the figurative distance between them.

“I do too.”

**Author's Note:**

> In case you were wondering where the fic title comes from, the first two lines of Holy Knight are (at least if I'm listening properly):
> 
> お前だけの騎士だと  
今も胸に秘めて
> 
> which roughly translates to:
> 
> "I am the knight that belongs to you  
But I keep those thoughts hidden inside my chest."


End file.
